


commas of care

by feralphoenix



Series: we were faster on our feet [6]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Agoraphobia, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Autistic Frisk, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - C-PTSD, Don't copy to another site, Nonverbal Frisk, Other, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Purim, Spoilers - Undertale Pacifist Route, Teshuvah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: Chara chooses to decline an invitation. Asriel mixes up his priorities and puts both feet in it. Frisk is sick of being put in the middle when their partners argue.Alternatively: The one where the trio almost doesn't do Purim.
Relationships: Chara/Asriel Dreemurr/Frisk
Series: we were faster on our feet [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590652
Comments: 26
Kudos: 56





	1. the point of abyssal infinity

**Author's Note:**

> _(Fumbled the petals of roses_ – make a toast to the lenience of death who saw the three of us happy together and decided to look the other way.)

“You could at least _try!”_

Across the room from you Chara’s hand settles on a pillow and clenches, like they’re of half a mind to throw it at you. “Asriel. It really and truly boggles the mind how much difficulty you are having, right now, understanding a word as simple as _no._ Perhaps it would behoove you to take a refresher lesson. It has two letters in it and means the opposite of yes. If someone tells you it in response to a suggestion or inquiry it means you need to drop the fucking subject.”

“I know what the word _no_ means, gosh dang it!”

“Well, you’re doing a piss poor job of demonstrating that at this point in time.”

You are so close— _so_ close—to just blowing your top right now, but instead you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep deep breath and breathe back out while counting to ten. Getting mad isn’t going to help.

“Just. Chara!! Can you please… explain to me _why_ you’re so _no, no, a thousand times no, I shan’t._ Because maybe then we can, like, _talk_ instead of yelling _yes no yes no_ forever. Okay???”

You think you’re being pretty reasonable right now, but when you open your eyes again to look at them Chara is giving you these nigh-on murderous narrowed eyes and trying to look down their nose at you, which doesn’t work anymore because you have four whole inches on them.

“What even is there to explain?” they say, all sharp like their words could turn into pointy bullets they could cast at you in a spell. “It’s a small enclosed location that is going to be packed with humans, many of whom will be drinking, that will furthermore be _noisy._ That’s three entire hard nos. I understand you still know very little about the human sportsballs, but in the baseball one three outs means your turn is done.”

“That’s dumb,” you tell them. “It’s not going to be full of _that_ many humans, just Frisk’s shul, and their rabbi lady will be there and you _like_ her. It might actually be fun if you go!”

“Asriel, you cannot green eggs and ham me into this. I have made my decision and no amount of complaining on your part is going to change it.”

You take another deep breath and calmly and politely lose your mind.

“Chara, you are being _so selfish!”_

“Oh, so _I’m_ the selfish one here.” They fold their arms and tilt their chin back. Their eyebrows are doing the _thing_ again.

“Yes! _Yes, you are!_ I _know_ it’s hard ‘cause we’re all fucked up and whatever but I _ALSO_ know if you keep running away from everything just because stuff didn’t work out once or twice you’re eventually not gonna be able to do _anything_ anymore!”

“Asriel,” Chara says, shaking their head a little, “let me say this as gently as I possibly can: If the day ever comes when I devolve into some anime cliché total shutin, _I do not see how that is any of your business at all.”_

“It is SO my business, because—!!!” You stamp your foot and throw your arms up into the air. “Sometimes, as your friend, there are ACTIVITIES! That I want to DO! WITH YOU!!! If I am having some sort of SPECIAL MOMENT it would be much cooler if YOU are ALSO THERE, because I LIKE TO HAVE YOU AROUND, as little as I freaking remember why right at this very minute when you’re being a stubborn jerk!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“We can still have moments in Monster Town,” Chara says, half grinning. It’s not their too-perfect frozen smile so you know they’re just making fun of you and you see even redder. “We can still have moments in the house, even.”

“You’re too _smart_ to play dumb like this, Chara!” Your voice is raising and over at their desk where they’re studying with their back to you both Frisk’s shoulders go all tense and curl in a little and, like, you feel bad about that but you can say sorry after you’re done fighting. Right now you can’t help yourself. “You can’t get better if you don’t make an effort!”

_“Getting better_ doesn’t always mean waving a magic wand and transforming into one’s pre-trauma self,” Chara says, reaching up to rub their temples. “I don’t _have_ a fucking pre-trauma self, except maybe when I was a newborn infant or something, and I don’t particularly want to regress to _that._ There’s a lot to be said for learning how to live within your limits, especially when you have a limited amount of resources to spend on idiot maneuvers that could put you in bed recovering for a week.”

“Well, what’s actually the point of _having_ the resources if you never spend ‘em, huh?” You are nearly yelling and also, about to cry, which adds humiliation to your mounting pancake stack of frustration and disappointment. “Why is it not worth it to go to _one_ stinking Purim service with me and Frisk and Mom, huh? Why is it NEVER worth it to do something with me that _I want to do?”_

Chara takes a breath as if to respond but you’re not done yet.

“There is _so much stuff!”_ you bawl. “There’s _so_ much stuff I’ve missed out on ‘cause you either got cold feet two seconds before or freaked out as soon as you dipped your little toe in! _So much stuff_ I was looking forward to! I’m not some little kid starstruck by having a best friend for the first time anymore, Chara, we are on the Surface and I have friends and family and there’s stuff I want to see and do now!! I’ve been trying _so so so hard_ for _so so so so so long_ to never complain about it ‘cause I care about you but _I have needs too_ and sometimes the things I’m missing out on ‘cause of _you_ are opportunities that are never coming back!”

“Are you—” Chara interrupts, leaning their head in a little like they can’t believe what they’re hearing. “Are _really_ throwing this fucking tantrum like a two-year-old because of the _ballet?”_

_“YES!”_ you roar. “The most famous junior ballet troupe in the _whole state of Massachusetts_ doesn’t have fancy charity shows every _day,_ Chara, or even every _year!_ It was a whole big goodwill THING that all the most important monsters _including_ the Royal Family, meaning _us,_ and especially the future head ambassador, which is _Frisk,_ bought tickets and were going to go! I was looking forward to it _so much_ and it was going to be _so fun_ but _you_ just _had_ to _ruin_ it freaking out over what the concert hall looked like even though you weren’t even gonna be sitting next to anybody human! So we had to rush back and miss the whole thing and I couldn’t say a word about it because _ohh poor Chara_ but you know what, I make so many compromises for you and Frisk and Frisk makes so many for me and you, the least you could do is put some damn effort in for us sometimes!”

You don’t—you don’t even know how to properly explain it but the ballet would have been _so_ special, you know it down to your bones, you knew it since you saw a picture of the prima ballerina, who was you three’s age. You gushed about it at school for a while until MK and Suzy started teasing you about your crush on her, because you _don’t_ have a crush on her. It’s not that she’s not _really pretty_ because she _is_ but you saw the picture of her in her costume and her name, _Innig Oyekan,_ and you knew you had to meet her. You never tried to _say_ anything to Frisk or Chara about it but you knew, you _thought_ you knew, that they both felt the same. If you’d gotten to see her dance, if you’d gotten to talk to her at the reception, you _know_ it would have changed all your lives in a really great way.

“Oh, well,” Chara says all flat and sarcastic, “I’m sorry that my nearly _pissing myself_ in a panic and then almost asphyxiating myself with vomit inconvenienced you so _badly,_ Asriel Dreemurr. I’m sure I could have stayed and gone into heart failure or whatever if I knew it was so _important_ to you.”

_“You!!!!!!!!!!! Have!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Meds!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! For!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ You took them in the freaking car on the way back and by the time we were home you were mostly calm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You didn’t choke either, you just fainted and then puked a couple minutes later, we were even back outside by then!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You _could_ have tried to tough it out just a little longer to see if it would be okay but you _didn’t_ and since I let you have that one, even though I was _so_ upset I felt like I was gonna die, _this time_ you could actually try for me! You could take your panic meds _beforehand_ if you think it’s gonna be a problem! _Once_ is self-preservation. A _bajillion_ times is being _SELFISH_ and a _COWARD!”_

“Yes, _I_ am definitely being the selfish and unreasonable one here.” Chara shakes their head. “I’m sorry about the ballet. It was unfortunate, and it’s too bad Toriel didn’t let you stay with some family friend to watch. But you _need_ to understand that you have no idea what it feels like for that to happen to my body. You also do not have any idea how fucking awful it feels to actually take those muscle relaxants—if you did maybe you would respect why I try to leave them as a last resort only.

“I wish I didn’t have to give the Purim service a pass too, Ree. I do like the rabbi and I do want to enjoy the celebration and try the food. But if I tell you there are too many humans I don’t know and that drunk people frighten me, I need you to accept that I don’t feel the risk is worth it and back off.”

You snort. “Oh, so you ‘don’t feel the risk is worth it’, huh? You know what _I_ think, Chara? _I_ think you’ve decided it’s not worth it ‘cause there’s just not enough for _you_ to gain from celebrating one of _Frisk’s_ favorite holidays when it has nothing to do with _your_ favorite myths and stories, you—you Moses kinnie.”

Five seconds after the words have left your mouth you already kind of regret them because that was a weak and kinda dumb diss and it’s definitely not gonna help you twist Chara’s arm any.

_Ten_ seconds after the words have left your mouth you start regretting them more, because:

First Chara goes pale as paper. They’re staring at you so hard you can see the whites all around their eyes, and their mouth is very slightly open like they were about to give you some smart-assed retort.

Then they turn red, _so_ red, like the usual red in their cheeks is has spread from the tip of their chin to their hairline and then got amplified by a billion. They close their mouth quietly and a muscle somewhere jumps like they’re clenching their teeth. Their lips press together so that just around them goes white again.

After _that_ their face slowly starts to return to its usual color. Their expression doesn’t change, though. You’re maybe starting to sweat a little bit.

“Asriel Dreemurr,” Chara says in a pleasant, neutral voice with a pleasant, neutral expression, “I am divorcing you.”

Your jaw drops. Before you can think of anything to say, anything at all, Chara turns neatly on their heel and walks out the bedroom door. They catch the knob on their way out and slam it so hard your knees give out and drop you on your butt, so hard it _echoes,_ so hard the little trinkets on tables and shelves fall down too.

Frisk, who at some point turned in their seat with an arm propped over the backrest to watch your tableau, looks to you with brow furrowed and eyes narrowed and their mouth in a grimace like _good going!_

There’s really, super nothing you can say in response to that at all.

“I would like to move to Asgore’s house,” you can hear Chara saying as you approach the kitchen.

There’s the faint clunk of some sort of cutlery being set down abruptly. “My goodness, my dear,” your mother says. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“I don’t want to see Asriel’s face anymore because I am divorcing him,” is the bright reply. “And I doubt I can insist that _he_ move to his father’s just because of that, given that I myself am more or less a mere freeloader in your household.”

“Well,” you can hear your mother say—she’s amused, which you do not like because this is not a laughing matter even a little, but also you’re relieved because it means she’s not taking Chara seriously. Thanks, Mom. “I agree that it would be unfair to have Asriel move out because you two are fighting, but I also believe that it would not be the best for you to move away either. Asgore takes care of you well enough on his visitation days, but he is not always at home, and he is less familiar with the intricacies of the care you need.”

Scooching closer to the hallway wall so you won’t be caught listening in, you make a face. You’re not sure if your mom’s really right about _that_ part. Your dad gets along with Chara pretty okay and every time they’ve had a crisis at his place he’s handled it alright. Probably this is more about your mom still not fully trusting him yet, which. Is one of those things you talk to your therapist about from time to time because you don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about it.

If Chara thinks this is just your mom’s bias too, they don’t say anything, so your mom goes on.

“However, I must remind you that even though I am not really your mother, your status in my household as a foster child doesn’t mean that you’re worth any less than Asriel. Surely there must be a compromise we can make until you’re ready to make up.”

“I think you know that’s not what _divorce_ means,” Chara says darkly. “You’re sure not making up with Asgore anytime soon.”

Your mom doesn’t remark on this at all, big points for her. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to move to a guest bedroom for now?”

“Hm,” says Chara, and then a moment later, “Hey, why do _I_ have to vacate _my own bedroom_ when _Asriel’s_ the one being a bastard though?”

“Language, my child,” your mom says with a touch of warning in her voice. _Hah._ Take _that,_ Chara. “But I suppose you are right, and it isn’t very fair to punish you for this. I can consult with Asriel instead—about either moving to a guest room for a while, or staying with me.”

_“What???”_ you blurt out loud, rushing around the corner into the kitchen. Chara looks up at you with that pleasant, neutral expression again, their eyes just a little too wide; your mom turns from the counter to cross her arms and raise an eyebrow at you. “Why do _I_ have to sleep someplace else suddenly? That’s not fair to _me either!”_

“Asriel, it’s very rude to eavesdrop,” your mom says. Uh-oh. “I think that until you remember how to respect others’ boundaries, perhaps you _should_ stay where I can keep an eye on you at night for at least a few days.”

Well, _fuck!_

You figured Chara would at least be amused enough at your getting sentenced to sleeping in your mom’s room at age fourteen that they’d soften a _little_ bit, but it appears you have vastly underestimated their capacity to hold a grudge. Every time you enter a room that they’re also in they get up and leave as immediately as they can, they always sit on the opposite side of the room from you at school, and they generally evaporate into thin air at every possible opportunity you try to take to apologize for losing your temper. You only ever get as far into an apology as _hey, Chara_ before they’ve shot you that bland look you’re more and more sure is a kernel of hatred wrapped in a thick coating of disgust.

And every time you look to your mom for support she just gives you this arch parently look of _well, these are the consequences for your actions, young man_ and doesn’t interfere. Thanks, Mom.

It’s not as if you can go to your _dad_ for advice here either, since he hasn’t been able to get your mom to be more than arm’s-length polite at him even years after your parents came to the agreement to be civil for your sakes (really, your sake in particular). It is kind of a family in-joke that you take after your dad most despite being what Chara calls _a classic mama’s boy_ (and remembering that is so lonely it actually physically _hurts),_ but you don’t think you’ve vibed with him this hard in a while.

Frisk is not particularly helping either. Well, at least they’re not actively taking Chara’s _side_ so much as they spend most of their time after school silently studying and not hanging out with either of you as far as _you_ can tell. But they aren’t giving you advice, and they _do_ still get to sleep in your bedroom, so if they _really_ want to be neutral so bad they could stand to show you a _little_ sympathy, couldn’t they?

On Friday Chara heads to the park with Suzy after school, as Undyne is apparently… refereeing? organizing??? you’re not too clear on the details, but there’s some sort of kickball thing and Undyne’s running it. That’s more strenuous activity than you necessarily wanna undertake right now at the beginning of the weekend, and you have TV shows to watch, and _besides,_ even if you go Chara’s just going to ignore you the whole time.

After your show, and after you’ve gotten your mom’s cooking stuff out for her to use for making dinner, you decide enough is enough and barge into your bedroom so you can flop on the bed and complain at Frisk about things. If _they’re_ not going to come to _you_ then you just have to be proactive, and besides, it’s dang lonely only really having your mom for company.

“I just—I _know_ I said some really dumb stuff, but they don’t have to be so _dramatic_ about it, do they??? I mean, really. They’re _divorcing_ me??? Ugh! Like—Chara likes to claim that us all coming to the Surface and you bringing us back in May means that they’re the oldest now and everything, but even _I_ can tell you that giving somebody the silent treatment isn’t real mature.”

_They’re well within their rights to be mad,_ Frisk says. About halfway through your venting they closed their book and turned their chair around so they could listen to you, because they’re a good sport like that. _First of all, you were being really pushy even though they were super clear that no was their final word. And second, even though I think you mostly meant well, I do think Chara’s not wrong to suggest that you were getting this good thing you wanted them to have mixed up with a good thing you wanted for yourself._

They’re _not_ really wrong to say this, and you groan. “I don’t know. It’s just… like, Chara _is_ making the hurdles higher for themself when every time they’re faced with some sort of problem they run away. The more they do this, the harder it’ll be for them when they’re left with no other choice than to go out and face the world. Their therapist _told_ us when we all went in with them a couple months back that we’re supposed to encourage them.”

_Not sure that what you were doing exactly stayed in the realm of ‘encouraging’,_ Frisk says doubtfully. You wave a hand at them, ‘cause they may be right but also you weren’t done.

“Also like… I know I’m the outsider here who doesn’t _~get it~_ or whatever but I _do_ at least know they have angst about not being able to do religious stuff. If they went it would be one less thing to angst about. Yeah, going with both of you and having a fun time all together _is_ something that I want. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be mutually beneficial.”

_I think Chara understands that too,_ Frisk says. _But if they aren’t ready for what the Purim celebration at my synagogue is going to be like, what Rabbi Leah specifically warned us ahead of time it’s going to be like, then I do think it will do more harm than good to shove them into the deep end. I think there are other ways that we could have worked to make some sort of compromise so they can still enjoy Purim._

_I doubt they’re going to be willing to talk to you for a while, though,_ Frisk goes on, a crease between their eyebrows, turning their head to the side so they’re looking at you diagonally instead of straight on. _You still don’t even realize how bad what you said to them was, after all._

“I _do_ know what I said to them was bad!” you say, flinging your hands up into the air and rolling dramatically onto your back, making sure Frisk’s still in your field of vision so they won’t have to speak aloud. “It was stupid and thoughtless and childish and me losing my temper just made it clear I couldn’t have a reasonable conversation about anything. I was completely showing my ass about how unreceptive I was.”

_Well, yes, it was bad for those reasons too,_ Frisk says. _But I don’t just mean that. Of course what you said offended Chara. You were making light of something that’s sacred to them._

“I thought you guys are supposed to have a pretty casual relationship with your god,” you say, frowning.

_That’s not really what I’m talking about,_ Frisk says. _Yes, we’re supposed to question God and we’re allowed to get mad at God and we don’t necessarily have to respect God and a lot of Jewish people gently poke fun at God. God’s not what’s sacred to Chara here. Of course their Jewishness is a really important part of their identity, which is why they get so insecure about things. But this is different. Like… I’m trying to think of a way to explain this that you can relate to but I don’t think you have anything you really hold sacred, so._

“Hey,” you say.

_Well, do you?_ Frisk challenges. _Do you have something that’s—that’s such a massive part of who you are, like it’s the core of your being, the one thing you believe in no matter what, something you can live on if you lose everything else but just that one thing is left intact. Something nobody’s allowed to touch or tarnish. I don’t mean something that other people would say is holy, I mean something that’s holy to you and you alone, like if someone reached into the center of you and tried to grab it they’d burn their hand._

“That’s easy, of course I do,” you tell them, almost scoff. You don’t even have to think about _that,_ it’s so obvious. “That’s the way I feel about Chara and about you. If you turned me back into Flowey right now and everyone, even you guys, forgot all about this me, if I could still love the two of you I could probably bear it.”

Frisk looks at you for a long moment without saying anything, so long and considering it’s kinda embarrassing.

_Okay,_ they say at length. _I was absolutely wrong, then, you DO get it._ They take a breath and then sigh. _What’s in that place for Chara, the center of their being, for them that’s Moses. That’s what he means to them._

You frown at them again, deeper.

_If someone got in your face and had already annoyed you,_ they press, _and then they started making fun of the way you love us. If they—if they, I don’t know, started talking about how we’re too scummy to deserve it, or said you just have a human fetish, or called you a… a suckerfish or a parasite or something. You’d be hurt, and furious, right? Because how dare anyone say that to your face about something so important to you, right?_

You open your mouth and close it. Even just hearing Frisk lay out hypotheticals pulls your stomach into a hot tight ball and makes your heart beat uncomfortably, heat rise to your face.

_Do I have to finish connecting the dots for you or do you get it?_ Frisk presses with that lack of mercy they only ever seem to show you.

“I get it,” you say, and cover your face in your hands. “I get it, I get it, okay.” If anyone ever went after you for the love that keeps you yourself—ooh, buddy, they wouldn’t get off with just you refusing to talk to them ever again. Chara’s _restraint_ awes you in the same moment your stomach sinks, and sinks, and sinks. If you’ve—if you’ve messed up so bad this time that they’ve started to hate you…

You lower your hands and look at Frisk as plaintively as you can. “But like… that’s even _more_ reason why I’ve gotta talk to them and apologize! How am I supposed to do that if they pack up and leave every time I get within ten feet of them though?!”

Frisk sighs. _Maybe don’t chase them so much, is one thing._ They make a face. _Asriel… Can I say something right now that might be kind of tough for you to hear, or should I just leave it for today?_

“Um, now that you’ve said it, I’d rather you tell me so I can avoid spending weeks chewing my claws being scared that you hate me or are about to dump me or whatever. _Especially_ if it’s either of those things please just cut to the chase and behead me in one clean cut.”

_Gross,_ Frisk says. _But yeah, I get that actually, that’s very fair. I’m not dumping you and I don’t hate you either, by the way._

They turn towards their desk again with an arm over the back of their chair so they can prop their face in a hand, their fingers covering their mouth, and think for a bit. You watch them, reassure yourself that they wouldn’t lie to you, they never have, they aren’t that kind of person. Finally Frisk pushes up their glasses and gestures to all the books and things on their desk.

_All of this,_ they say, _my b’nei mitzvah. I know you know I’m studying so I can be knowledgeable in a subject and lead a service. But do you know what the whole ceremony_ means? _As in, what it’s supposed to celebrate and symbolize?_

“Isn’t it supposed to be some sort of coming of age thing?” you say.

_Yes and no. I’m having my b’nei mitzvah a year later than most people do because I wasn’t part of a temple community before. Thirteen is the age when we become truly bound by our laws. We’re still not considered actual adults until we hit whatever the local marrying age is, but once you’re over thirteen you’ve developed enough mentally for your sense of right and wrong to form, and it’s fair to hold you to the consequences of your actions._

“Where are you going with this?”

_What I’m saying, Asriel, is…_ Frisk shakes their head and pushes their glasses up their nose. _You love me and you love Chara, right? Enough to say it’s the center of your whole self._

“I do. It is.”

_Then…_ They sigh, and scowl at you. _It’s high time you grow the fuck up._


	2. the point of difficult ecstasy

“I cannot fucking _believe_ him,” you say to Frisk.

“I cannot fucking _believe_ him,” you say also to Suzy. And to Toriel, who threatens to give you extra chores if you don’t stop swearing. And to Asgore, on the weekend, who says _now now, let’s not use that kind of language,_ but gives up after a few more times, which actually makes you feel kind of bad, so you try to tone it down at least around him. And you say the same thing to Undyne, and Alphys, and Sans, and your therapist.

Right now, at this very moment, you’re saying it to Frisk, though, who’s probably tuning you out while they research obscure religious law and comments by various historical rabbis upon obscure religious law regarding the four of Judaism’s original six genders that other cultures (but mostly Christianity, let’s be real) brainwashed your people into forgetting over the centuries.

“I cannot _FUCKING_ believe him,” you reiterate all the same, mostly to yourself you guess, because the point deserves reiteration. “Who the _fuck_ does he think he is getting all _gee Chara why don’t you just stop being disabled so you can do things you hate with me!_ It’s the shittiest possible date invite I have ever heard in my entire life and Asriel is a _bastard_ and I’m going to strangle him if he comes up to me trying to make excuses for himself _one more time.”_

“It’s kind of incredible that it took him making fun of your personal role model for you to find something you won’t forgive Asriel for,” Frisk says from their desk, sounding almost absentminded. Even so it makes you feel warm that they actually _are_ listening to you instead of letting it all go in one ear and out the other. “When it never even occurred to you to hold it against him for that time he murdered us like a hundred times in gross ways, and then held everybody hostage while beating us up to try to abuse us into being his personal toy to play with forever and ever. You forgave him for all that right away, so I figured you’d always let him get away with absolutely everything just ‘cause you’re in love with him.”

“Well—Asriel wouldn’t have ever gotten _that_ bad if it hadn’t been for me, anyway, so that was all my fault if you trace it back to the start,” you say. (Frisk makes a little _hmm_ like they’re not so sure about that, which you don’t comment on; you’ve always figured Frisk holds that against Asriel enough for the both of you, which is all the more reason for you to deem it water under the bridge. You’ve never really tried to change their opinion and there’s no real reason to start now.) “And that’s not strictly true. This one time a little after I’d first dicked up dying by tripping and landing on my face in a hole and wound up underground, when Asriel was still really dumb about humans, I tried to explain how fucking stupid human gender is and he accused me of making it up to trick him. I never really forgave him for _that_ either, I just decided not to hold it over his head when he apologized and committed to learning better.”

“Were you even in love with him at that point yet?”

“It was like four and a half years ago, Frisk, I don’t know. For me it’s never as easy as turning a switch and then, oops, I’m in love. Both with you _and_ with him it was more like the frog getting boiled.”

Frisk makes a little cough that sounds like _Undyne_ and you glare at them across the room. They don’t say anything else, and you take a deep breath. You’re trying to _complain_ to them, not have a fight with them.

_“Anyway._ God—it’s not like I don’t feel _bad_ for holding you two back from big social activities you do when you stay behind with me out of whatever courtesy it is you both have. He doesn’t have to guilt trip me over it. But no matter how much he guilt trips me I doubt god’s going to be like _oh shit, you’re right, Asriel Dreemurr, everything SHOULD in fact revolve around what You, Some Rando Goy, want and need, just have Frisk bonk Chara with a stick and they will be all cured.”_ For a second you feel paralyzed with fear and humiliation and your whole body seizes up in anticipation for Frisk, too, to make some sort of snide statement about your instinctual choice of metaphor. When they don’t a second wave of humiliation and indignant rage wells up, so hot the rims of your eyelids ache.

“It’s also—the sheer levels of irony, here, that it’s this holiday about Vashti and Esther saying _fuck you no_ that Asriel wants to celebrate and yet he won’t listen to me when I say it,” you try to continue, except that now your voice is all high-pitched and wobbly and weird.

Now Frisk actually looks over at you, and they put their book down and scrape their chair back from the desk so as to hop up onto the bed with you. They crawl across it to where you sit and hold your hands, and the contact makes you jump a little. Frisk examines your expression for a while and then releases your hands to wrap their arms around you instead. You close your eyes and try to breathe slow, and some of the swirling dizzy feeling in your forehead and the churning in your stomach die down.

“If it’s worth anything at all,” Frisk says softly, rubbing your back in circles, “I think he’s at least starting to understand the real reasons why he was way out of line now.”

“I am still,” you say, “never going to forgive him.”

“Good,” says Frisk. “You shouldn’t. At least not until he comes groveling to you three times to make amends.”

You laugh wetly and Frisk tenderly ignores that you’re halfway crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry I just keep—whining to you about this like you’re the rope in a game of tug of war I’m trying to win. It’s just so _much_ right now.”

“Maybe you should ask Mom to schedule another therapy session for you this week,” Frisk says. “And you can talk to the rabbi about it too. I appreciate that you’re apologizing because it _does_ suck being in the middle of this stuff, I feel like I have to—to fix everything, somehow, even though a lot of that has to be up to both of you. But that’s something that _I’ve_ got to talk to _my_ therapist about more. I know you’re hurting. I want you to let off steam if you need to.”

“I don’t want to burn _you_ with that steam, though,” you say, and lean your cheek on their shoulder. You wrap your arms around Frisk’s back, under their arms, for good measure. They run their fingertips down your spine and you shiver for a much better reason than your mental pain being converted directly into physical problems. You can’t help but giggle. “Don’t you just _love_ being fucked up.”

“Zero stars,” says Frisk, giggling too. “Do not recommend.”

Even as pissed as you are at Asriel, it’s been hideously lonely at night without him. But this night you and Frisk sleep with your bodies in a tight knot, and it eases something in you to be held fast in their arms, under heavy covers, one of their sound generators playing soft hail noises on their desk.

(Their chest has started to kind of get in the way of the full-body contact you crave from them, but, well… let’s just say that you find it hard to mind that so much.)

About a day or two after you and Frisk have this conversation, something absolutely incredible happens: Asriel stops chasing you.

Not that you have the wherewithal to appreciate it aside from vaguely, at first. Discussions with your therapist and psychiatrist have led to your meds getting changed—you’re off your former panic pill prescription, huzzah (and thank fuck, you _hate_ benzos). They’ve been replaced with something new and milder that you’re supposed to take every day with your usual antidepressants, which doesn’t make your tongue feel like it weighs 50 pounds but gives you brain fog thick as marzipan and makes you sleep thirteen hours a day while your body adjusts. You have approximately enough energy to look at dog gifs and listen to audiobooks that you only retain half of and that’s it.

Once said brain fog has gone down to the consistency of regular fog and you only sleep _ten_ hours a day, though, you realize rather abruptly that Asriel has politely stayed out of your face. And it can’t just be out of courtesy for the med swap, because he’s still doing it.

Those first few days you were too addled to vacate rooms he entered on principle. Now you have your wits more about you, out of a suspicious sort of curiosity you continue doing that—staying where you are when he shows up, you mean. Or only moving to the other side of the room, if you’re both on metaphorical stage left. Asriel sort of looks at you sometimes, measuring but surprisingly not _calculating,_ and doesn’t approach you.

It isn’t as though you aren’t still pissed off, but your new meds have done unto your emotions what Toriel is wont to do to sharp-edged tools. So maybe that’s part of it. More is probably your own morbid curiosity. But Frisk did flippantly say that Asriel should grovel to you three times, and, well—he can hardly reform his behavior if you don’t even give him a chance to grovel. Frisk is more learnèd in the Torah (and the Talmud, etc) than you at this point, so even Reform as they are they’ve probably got a more solid idea of how teshuvah is supposed to work than you do.

(And that is Still Not Particularly A Great Feeling but as previously established, your feelings are firing on half cylinders at the present, so _ha ha cultural alienation go suck a dick you can’t get me now._ )

Asriel spends days watching you but Pointedly Not Approaching, and you _are_ angry, but still mellow enough to ask him at last, “Is there something in particular you want to say to me?”

He freezes a little and gives you his _unsure if prank or genuine_ look for a few seconds before huffing out a breath and coming a few steps closer. As this leaves him still well out of melee range, you hold your ground. Asriel seems satisfied with this and stops, looking down at his feet and flexing his fingers at his sides.

“I am so sorry,” he says.

(He is _not,_ because you met _that_ guy underground and have not really seen them since, and Asriel _wishes_ he had that many hats and the ability to make his doodles come to life and a cardboard tail that deadly. You _really_ want to say this out loud because it’s a good goddamn joke but probably if you introduce any levity into this conversation Asriel will immediately assume he’s been forgiven, which, nice try but no.)

“You were right, I _was_ being really selfish,” Asriel goes on. “I shouldn’t have been so pushy. I shouldn’t have been so bratty. I should have tried to find a compromise. If, uh—if this is sounding a lot like something Frisk would say it’s because they’re the one who got me to see all of that, like, what I was wrong about, and how I was wrong, and why I was wrong. I wish I could be cool and act like I figured it out all by myself, but, heh, I don’t think I deserve that sort of credit just now.

“But most of all. I’m really, really sorry that I made fun of something important to you. I’m sorry I didn’t… I’m sorry I’ve been too, too self-absorbed to really try to understand that it was _that_ important. That it’s a—a what do you call it, a no-fly zone. I’m gonna do my best to be more careful in the future, and try to listen better, so I never do this again. I’m going to try to—to learn to be more respectful.”

You sort of want to laugh at that because _Asriel_ and _respectful_ are just not words that you can imagine belonging in the same sentence. But you don’t because—it would be nice, if that stops being true. You want to believe, a little, that it means something for Asriel to be saying this of his own volition.

So you look up at him, study him. The very slight squint of his eyes as he meets yours, the pinch of the edges of his mouth, the disarray of the fur around his baby horns that tells you he’s been scratching at them Again even though both his parents are always on him to not do that. He’s only half a head taller than you as of yet but you still don’t like that at all, you won’t be able to dismiss that as Future Chara’s problem anymore.

For so long now if asked to sum up Asriel Dreemurr in a single word you would’ve chosen _puppyish_ because that encompasses so much of his character. The eagerness to please, the foolishness and selfishness, the cuteness he can and will use to manipulate and his tendency to spill his hand in overexcitement whenever he gets nasty. His roundness and softness.

And he still has all of that, with a little world-weariness now and again from your mutual ordeal in death and the underground. He’s gotten taller, you’d say he’s gangly but he’s not really thin enough to quite suit that word; longer limbs and clumsy hands and feet and a deepening voice, horns and the beginnings of a mane. He’s learned to kiss, he looks at you and Frisk sometimes with palpably sweaty lust: Bro, You Are Teens. Except his demeanor has more or less been static, his puppyishness a throughline to the great tragicomedy of Asriel Dreemurrness.

It’s not as though earnestness and seriousness in Asriel are _new._ He’s always had flashes of them from time to time, and they tend to inhabit his better moments. But there’s some—some _quality,_ some je ne sais quoi, that makes this feel different. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t seem actively trying to tug on your heartstrings with his apology and smooth everything over altogether. It makes you want to poke it, to find out what it really is.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to put your money where your mouth is on this one, Ree,” you say at length, folding your arms and shifting your weight to one side.

Asriel just nods—not even would-be stoic but like he was already prepared for and accepts this answer. “Right. It’d be easy to like… say it and even mean it now but then forget the next time I lose my temper. But I really do mean it, so—I’ll show you. I’ll show you that I won’t forget.”

You smile at him. It probably comes out quite mean. “I’ll still remember this conversation even after you’ve forgotten it,” you tell him, and keep your voice light. “Fair warning.”

He nods again. It’s hard to tell how he’s taking this exactly. What you _want_ is for him to be intimidated enough to watch himself, but not _so_ intimidated that he might not allow himself to be genuine eventually and thereby have the potential to slip. The true judge of whether someone has really changed is seeing if they consistently take the better choice when put in the same situation. This is both a precautionary measure to foster true repair in a community or relationship and skepticism necessary for self-preservation: It’s etched into your very genes how many times _never again_ has been an empty promise.

“I’ll be watching, then,” you say, because Asriel hasn’t said anything back. He nods more vigorously now and with relief at the _conversation-over_ atmosphere you’re probably emitting. He meanders off, and you sit back down.

But you will be, and you are. Already. Even now.

Toriel drops you off at Asgore’s house while she takes Frisk and Asriel to the Purim celebration at Frisk’s synagogue, and even at the last minute Asriel doesn’t target you with any waterworks. Even so soon after your warning that you’re watching and the pressure it probably still applies, you think it’s safe to call this a small miracle compared to how he acted before.

You watch birds through the window for a while and enjoy the quiet. Presently you go outside in order to help your foster father weed the garden and water. Asgore never presses you to talk—he in fact gets out a radio to sit on the deck railing and plays classical music to provide background noise instead of initiating conversation—and you feel a little as though you’ve stepped sideways into a peaceful parallel world where missing out on an opportunity to reconnect with your heritage isn’t even slightly a point of concern.

Like. You do wish, a little, that you could have just gone with them.

But it still remains that your reasons for choosing not to are sound ones. Two humans you can tolerate and a few friends and family together with you, alone amongst a crowd of noisy human strangers. Many of whom are probably tipsy. Like, there’s taking a risk to seek large gains and then there’s self-harm. You’ve done enough of both in the past to be able to tell the goddamn difference.

You sigh and take your shoes and socks off in the middle of the lawn and dip your feet in the path of the sprinkler, one by one. It’s cold, refreshing. Trying not to think about things only ever leads to sleepless nights plagued by your brain insisting you process those things, you know _that_ from experience. Stewing on it isn’t going to help either.

So you try to think about what your therapist would have you do right now. It’s hard to be—well, _proactive_ if these are the results of a choice you already proactively made, isn’t it? Unless you’re supposed to also proactively accept the results. How does that even work?

You climb back up onto the deck to make sure you’re not going to get drenched by the sprinkler. Maybe you can at least make a plan for how to face Frisk and Asriel when they get back, and steel yourself not to show jealousy or regret, you muse while leaning on the railing. The light’s at just the right angle to spray prismatically off the sprinkler’s bending water arches, and it makes little rainbows across the yard; you idly consider getting your phone to document nature’s great gay agenda but decide that’s too much effort and would also reduce the amount of time you get to simply watch, too.

It’s some time later when grass-and-garden-watering is over and you’re rolling the hose back up that you hear a car pull up on the other side of the house, and then still five or ten minutes after that before the back door opens and your friends come out.

You put down the last of the tools and straighten up to look at them. It would be lying to yourself to say that it _doesn’t_ bother you how flushed and happy they seem, both wearing paper crowns, Frisk in some sort of gauzy sock-in-the-eye bright purple princess dress like something you associate with a kid’s costume closet at a disney play place photoshoot or whatever. Asriel keeps licking at his chops like he had something stuck to his fur or caught in his teeth.

“Chara!!!” he says, and comes barging down the deck stairs so fast he trips on his own oversize feet. You swoop in to bear him up on your shoulder, and Frisk has grabbed the back of his shirt, and between you two you manage to get him properly up and balanced.

“Maybe don’t break your face in your excitement,” you say as he hides said face in his hands. “It’s a nice face which you only have one of and we would miss looking at it if you crunched into some sort of horrible pug snout.”

“Gross,” says Asriel. Frisk sticks their tongue out too. “And sorry about that, I was just really excited about this idea I had—”

Here he trails off, digging his phone out of his pants pocket and fumbling with his increasingly sausagey fingers to open his notetaker program. (At least that’s _one_ thing about the certainty your height will cap out long before his—you’re not going to have to worry about outgrowing the size of your appliances.)

“I came up with something while we were at the thing,” Asriel goes on, “a way to like—compromise and bring Purim to you without your having to go visit a bunch of humans. And I asked the rabbi about it after, and that’s why we’re a little late? But I wanted to ask your opinion first instead of just making a bunch of choices for you that you might not want, so…” Here he holds the phone out at you, eyes fairly twinkling with hope. “What do you think, Chara?”

You accept the proffered phone, turn it right side up, and frown at Asriel’s shorthand a little. As you flick down the document, things begin to clear themselves up, and your eyebrows start to rise.

“Well?” Asriel says, and if he had a tail you bet he would be beating Frisk’s shins back and blue wagging it right now.

“Give me a moment,” you tell him, and flick back to the top of the notes to look at them again. “This is interesting. This is actually a good idea. We would have to consult with your parents and other people, of course, find some sort of location, but—”

Asriel flings his arms into the air and cheers. Behind him Frisk golf claps. You sigh and wait for them both to stop bouncing around so you’ll be able to tell them you’ll do it if they can actually properly get things to work out, but it’s difficult to properly maintain a frustrated expression.

It _is_ a good idea. Asriel _has_ been thinking.

You find yourself smiling a little.

It’s not as though you were ever at the movies so much as a kid, but the few times you _were_ instilled staunch back-row-ism in your heart. So the middle of the backmost row is where you stake your claim, and therefore where your friends cluster also, starting with Frisk and Asriel on either side.

Asgore and Toriel naturally decided to make a big community event out of Asriel’s idea, and so the park’s outdoor amphitheater with its half-circle concentric cement benches are full of curious monsters. You can spot a few of your classmates here and there amongst them.

Frisk’s rabbi stands in the middle of the cobblestone circle down at the bottom of the giant-stepped slope. She didn’t bring any sort of visual aids or anything, just a table of covered dishes which you expect have different kinds of traditional food for her audience to try, food being one of the friendliest and most accessible means of sharing one’s culture with others since ancient times. And there’s a small speaker on the ground attached to a generator, you suppose out of worry for the acoustics, though if she’s wearing a microphone it’s too small for you to see this far away.

“Isn’t this great?” Asriel says sotto voce from beside you. “The weather’s perfect and everything!”

“I don’t think you can take credit for _that_ part,” you tell him to keep him from getting _too_ smug. He just sticks his tongue out at you as if unbothered.

Frisk nudges the side of your foot with theirs and says _“Shush!”_ so you elbow Asriel and convey the same before following their request.

“Is everyone here?” Rabbi Leah says from below, voice amplified by the speaker. (You still sort of expect the tinny quality of technology from your own time, and are taken aback all over again by it just sounding like Her Usual Speaking Voice With The Volume Turned Up.) “Yes? That’s good, that’s excellent.

“Thank you all for joining us today! As you’ve probably already heard signing up for today’s event, I’m here to tell everyone a story from my culture, and the culture of your two favorite humans.” She gestures up at you and Frisk here, and there’s a little clapping and cheering from the crowd that makes your face heat up. “Before we get started, there’s a little rule I’d like to explain to everybody who’s never heard of Purim before.

“The villain of this story is a man named Haman, and the things he did are so terrible and cruel that whenever we tell this story it’s tradition to boo and hiss and make all sorts of noise whenever his name comes up. So there’s no need to be shy—whenever I say his name, yell and stamp your feet and shake your noisemakers. Together let’s celebrate his downfall, and the cleverness and bravery of those who made it so.

“Would everyone like to try it, before we get started? When I say ‘Haman’—”

You don’t even have time to worry about whether the monsters will all be silent and it’ll just be you and Frisk and Asriel and Toriel—booing rings throughout the amphitheater like a wave and drowns out the rustling of nearby tree leaves. A few birds take off from their perches, startled by the noise. Your already-warm face goes hotter yet.

The rabbi claps in appreciation as the booing dies down, laughing. “That’s very good, everyone! I can tell this is going to be a lot of fun for us all.

“Now, far, far in the distant past, in the country of Iran—which was then called Persia—there lived a king called Ahasuerus who ruled his country with pride and an iron fist. He wasn’t a _bad_ king, no, but he could be foolish at times, especially when he got drunk. And when he was foolish, he acted like a spoiled child used to getting everything he wanted.

“When our story begins, King Ahasuerus had a queen named Vashti who was as beautiful as she was brave—and she was very beautiful, and very brave. One night when the king was very drunk he decided he wanted to boast of his pretty wife to a party of guests—and because he was foolish in his drunkenness, he decided to boast by ordering Queen Vashti to appear before the guests wearing only her crown, nothing else.

“But Queen Vashti, who was as brave as she was beautiful, told her drunken husband that of course she would not do that. And the king was so shocked at being told no that he divorced her on the spot, and ordered her removed from her post!

“The former queen Vashti leaves our story here for fairer pastures, and when her ex-husband sobers he feels very, very silly for estranging such a beautiful girl. But because he cannot go back on his actions and lose face, King Ahasuerus decides that there is nothing left to do but find a new bride—one just as beautiful as fair Vashti…

“So the king orders that all the beautiful girls of marrying age in Persia be brought before him. And the most beautiful of all those girls—just as beautiful as Vashti, and what she lacked of Vashti’s courage she made up for in sheer wits—the most beautiful of all those girls is a Jewish maiden by the name of Esther—”

Hearing the story told by a rabbi, in a crowd of people excitedly jeering whenever Haman pops up, with hamentashen and fazuelos passed around at the end to commemorate the celebrated ear vore, is absolutely nothing at all like reading it on Wikipedia. Asriel keeps sneaking peeks at your face and glowing at you all the way back, and you can’t even bring yourself to heckle him for it because a) you can’t stop grinning and b) his glowing is less pride that He Did The Thing and more happiness that you’re happy. He really is a puppy.

“That _ruled,”_ he’s still gushing when you get home. Frisk skids off immediately, but Asriel keeps you here with him, bouncing on the pads of his feet. “We should do it _every_ year.”

“I think maybe you should consult your parents and Rabbi Leah about that first before you establish any new Monster Town traditions,” you tease, but you’re still smiling and so is he.

“Surprise!!!!!!!!” says Frisk, popping back around the corner and scaring you into a leap backwards interrupted by the front door. Both they and Asriel look at you in concern, but you’re already laughing at yourself as you regain your balance, and so they relax.

“Lo, I amn……………… surprised,” you joke, and then raise your head and see that Frisk is brandishing two wicker baskets wrapped in loudly iridescent, translucent plastic-like material. “Okay, I actually _am_ surprised. Am I being bullied here.”

“You’re being bullied with food and niceness, because we love you,” says Asriel, who takes one of the baskets from Frisk and holds it out towards you. “I can’t take credit for this one, it was Frisk’s idea. We made you mosh… mitch…” he looks at Frisk helplessly.

“Mishloach manot,” they supply.

“Yeah, those things,” Asriel goes on. “Purim baskets? Uh, I’m not as good with baking sweets as Frisk is yet so my one is like all candy.”

“I made chocolate hamantashen and impade,” Frisk says blithely. They are such a show-off and you fucking love them. You have no idea what impade even _is,_ but like, they know enough about what you can and can’t eat that you trust them implicitly by this point.

Instead of reaching out to take either basket, you fold your arms and lean back against the door again. “I seem to recall the both of you ganging up on me like this a couple years ago, too. I absolutely appreciate the tribute, don’t get me wrong, but I’d like the opportunity to return the favor with something proper.” Frisk smiles suggestively and Asriel’s mouth drops open, so you hold up both hands and glare at them warningly. _“I am not offering sexual favors as a Bro We Are Teens It’s Ok To Cry Around Me Im Ur Best Friend etc-esque upgrade to kisses so do not even start._ I want to actually do something season-appropriate.”

They have the decency to conceal any disappointment they might feel, at least. “Well, today’s whole party and whatever were already a little late,” Asriel says. “So it’s only fair if we take a rain check too, since we surprised you.”

“How diplomatic of you.”

“I’m trying to be better,” he says so simply it cuts you off at the knees. “That means stuff like this, too.”

You take a moment before replying to really take stock of it all—Asriel with his four inches of height on you, the gold in his fur and his face starting to lose some of its roundness. Frisk’s little cat smile where they stand in the backdrop.

“Well,” you tell him, “I appreciate your efforts.”

Asriel grins like the sun. You decide to let him be for another few minutes before you’ll inevitably have to shoo both your partners down the hall so you can actually enter the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those who want to read the whole purim story i recommend trying to find former tumblr user swanjolras' The Purim Story, With Swears post because that one's a very funny rendition.


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